


Melancholy Hill

by SunBug



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post canon, Swearing, but basically all the gore is what happened in the movies and book, discussion of gore/body horror, discussion of suicide, its just patty and the losers talking about it, ohmygod they were roommates, patty and richie become friends and help each other grieve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunBug/pseuds/SunBug
Summary: Patty Uris is doing the impossible, trying to heal after losing her best friend, her soulmate. The last thing she wants is to be alone in her empty home. Lucky for her, the last thing Richie Tozier wants is to go back to L.A.A story about unlikely friends, melancholy memories, and life after loss.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Melancholy Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Hello this fic is inspired by this post "https://auggusst.tumblr.com/post/190081263423/okay-theres-a-lot-of-takes-on-how-richie-either" on tumblr! Thank you auggusst for your blessing!
> 
> Title comes from the Gorillaz song "On Melancholy Hill" - this acoustic version is my fav https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lAjs75dkho

Patty doesn’t feel like she made the decision; it just kind of happened. She had been sitting on their- no, her living room floor, surrounded by flowers. Her refrigerator door barely sealed against the stacks of glass pans. 

_What a cliche._ She thought bitterly. _The widow surrounded by calla lilies and lasagnas. Isn’t that just the way._

Not even a week had passed. Patty’s stomach was constantly in knots, her throat was tight, her head was cloudy, and her eyes stung. She wasn’t sleeping, she’d barely been able to go into the bedroom. She would wrap herself in Stan’s favorite fluffy blanket and curl up on the couch, and if she was lucky or simply too exhausted, she’d fall asleep there for a few hours. Surrounded by the flowers and condolence cards. She never rested. 

That was her justification when she found herself unlocking Stan’s phone, exhausted and grieving and looking for bits of him anywhere - everywhere she could. She choked when the screen opened, as she saw the two of them behind all the apps. It was a picture one of her friends had taken years ago now. Patty remembered that day so clearly, one of the first of Spring that year. Stan had his binoculars watching birds taking flight in the distance. He always sat so still while he watched. Patty had lazily braided Stan’s curls into a messy crown around his head, and dotted it with flowers growing in the park. Small flowers, dandelions. Soft and delicate and yellow. Nothing like the big, painfully bright bouquets that dotted her living room now. Patty looked away from their younger, smiling faces, her gaze instead falling on a puzzle piece under the couch. She clicked recents in his phone.

Calls from work, when they still didn’t know. A tear splashed on his boss's name. She kept scrolling. Two numbers he didn’t have saved. The one she had answered, the woman. Barely 24 hours after she found him, after she opened the bathroom door and -

Patty shut her eyes. She didn’t want to see that again. 

The second, just before. _Mike,_ he had said, like he had remembered something. _My God hi… How long has it been?_

Patty didn’t remember Stan ever mentioning a Mike, and she didn’t like the fear she had heard in Stan’s voice when he said the name. _I should have known something was wrong,_ she chided herself. Again. Like a song stuck in her head, a persistently destructive earworm, Patty kept thinking, _I should have known, I should have known, I should have known._

She presses the phone number. It starts to ring. 

“Hello?” a voice answers. Patty is ready to be angry. To be furious, to put all of the pain and hurt and emptiness she has been feeling onto this _Mike,_ this voice on the line. He called, and Stanley died. 

“Hello?” the voice says again, more concerned. 

“Mike,” she says, meaning for it to come out accusatory. She wants it to bite, she wants him to know that she knows who he is (she doesn’t. Stan never mentioned a Mike). She wants him to know that she blames him. But her voice comes out small, raspy and deflated.

“Mrs. Uris?” he asks, and Patty crumbles. He sounds so tired. So defeated. 

“Mike.” She says more certainly. “I-” she doesn’t know what to say. She didn’t think this through. “You can call me Patty.” She pinches her arm. 

“Patty,” he says softly. “How are you?”

_Broken, deflated, exhausted, sad, empty, drained, sick, sad, lonely, sad, raw, sad._

“I feel awful, Mike,” she admits. She notices that she keeps saying his name. 

“Patty, I am so sorry,” and he sounds like he means it. His voice sounds just as anguished as she feels. _He’s grieving too._

“Mike, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how you knew Stan, or how he knew you. But I -” her voice shakes. She swallows hard. “The service is the day after tomorrow. I - I think you should be there, Mike.” _Where is this coming from? You don’t know this guy,_ she thinks angrily. _But Stan did. He knew Stan._

There’s silence on the other end. Patty picks up the puzzle piece from under the couch. She clutches it near her heart. 

“I would love that.” Mike says quietly. “I - Patty. I’m uh - I grew up with Stanley. He was one of my best friends. I - there was a group of us. Inseparable. They loved Stan, we uh - we all did. If it’s okay, I think they would want to, if that won’t be too crowded, it might be too short notice, I’m sorry -”

“Okay,” she breathes, and shakes her head. What is she doing? She just invited a group of people she doesn’t know to her husband's funeral. But she feels it, deep in her gut, they need to be there. Stan would have wanted that. She knows. It's the same feeling as when their eyes used to meet, and she would know exactly what he was thinking. “I’ll text this number the details.”

“Thank you.” Mike says. 

“Okay.” she says. 

“Patty,” he blurts on the other end. “I’m really - I am so sorry.”

“Okay,” she says again. “Thank you.” 

And she means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter coming soon!
> 
> Also sorry about the notes at the top, I can't figure out how to hyperlink... help!!!!


End file.
